Tonight I missed a shot with nostalgia because of myself.
I've become such a slave to my phone that the flashing colours in the sky could not,
would not bother me.
Everything except for the device shining in my palms was blocked out like a voice I didn't want to hear in the first place,
Except I DID want to hear it.
I want know about everything that is happening around me without burying my face so deeply into Google to find the answers I'm searching for.
Nothing ever happens to me because I'm too busy in the comfort of my own home,
upon my own couch,
on my own phone worrying about the next Facebook status
and whether or not it will be entertaining
or in need of a dose of an opinion that is my own.

I recognize that I have my own personal "cell"-mate that will follow me wherever I go as long as I don't forget it on my kitchen counter.
I am shackled to my cellphone.
It takes me in handcuffs daily,
arresting me at my own free will.
A policemen of such small character,
yet so many brains.
And I already know my rights.
I already know my rights because I've researched them enough times with my mobile text book to have them memorized.
You have the right to post a status, anything you say can and will be taken out of context.
You have a right to an opinion, if you do not have an opinion one will be appointed to you by your desire to impress those whom share a friendship with you.

I am a servant to technology.
It's as though it is a part of my anatomy.
If it's not one item of electronics it's another and it has my full undivided attention.
As connected as we are, we have all become disconnected.
No one talks anymore.
Word of mouth has become word of texting.
Important pieces of information are shared via the internet because it's easier to get it out there all at once instead of saying it multiple times.
I sadly succumb to every chime I am beckoned with as it demands I answer whomever has interupted the surfing
and scrolling
and sharing
and liking
and commenting
and posting...
I put my phone down in disbelief.
Now tell me, "What's on your mind?"

We're just forgotten names under the people you may know tab,

and now I know,

that it was never enough.

now you know,

I was never enough.

Dear Facebook lovebirds,

I get it. You like each other.
But seriously, just stop.
If you want to tell someone
you love them,
that you're nothing without them,
that you'd die for them,
send them a message,
or better yet, actually tell them
face to face and savor the embrace of the moment
because if I see another post
about your immortal love
I'll remind you of its mortality.

Sincerely,
Someone who's heard it before

It happens on buses, in restaurants, or on trains,
On my work break, in waiting rooms, or on aeroplanes
It even happens on holidays and on nights out too
It drives me absolutely mental but what can I do?

I always get stuck with the one person, (I never seem to fail)
Who feels the need to tell their life story, (in all its gory detail)
Is it something about me, or is it just downright bad luck?
What makes people like these think I could give one f..k?

I try my best not to engage, but I do not like to be rude
Though I want to say Shut Up! I’m just not in the mood!
They start to talk, I disengage, it’s a real battle of wills
But they carry on regardless, have they no social skills?  

I try to make it obvious I’m not the type who gives a sh.t”,
that I am not someone who cares, even just a little bit
But they miss all the signals, that much is obvious
As they carry on regardless, completely oblivious!  
  
Now we all have our problems but we do not feel the need to share
So what makes these people think a complete stranger will care
Is offloading to strangers for them some kind of great panacea?
Or do these people just suffer from acute verbal diarrhoea?

As they prattle on I nod, make all the appropriate noises
If there was a competition for talkers these people would win prizes
While amazed by the fact these people never seem to draw breath
I fight an ever growing desire to simply beat them to death

Some things you don’t discuss with strangers, should it require explanation?
But nothing seems sacred, no such thing as “too much information”
These people tell me intimate details about themselves and their lives
Stuff you and I would hesitate to tell parents, siblings or wives

They seem to think I am their counsellor, some kind of therapist
When God was giving out social skills, they were obviously missed
They have absolutely no boundaries, have never heard of discretion
I pity the poor priest who has to listen to their confession!

And women are the worst, lest there be any doubt
You would not believe the personal stuff they tell me about
They get very inappropriate, though I do the best I can
To remind them of the fact they are talking to a man!

Some of these people have meltdowns, lose the plot altogether
And a little part of me just wants to say “Whatever!”
But I look in their eyes, where I often see tears glistening
And despite all my best efforts, I always end up listening

Those I meet just once on trips, well they are bad enough
But those in my social circle think I am their new BFF
Even though when I bump into them I could not be much colder
It is never long before they start crying on my shoulder

And soon they’re sending friend requests to me on Facebook
And following me on Twitter, God they’re everywhere I look
No matter how I try I cannot seem to shake them loose
So now I am seriously considering becoming a recluse

While these people are annoying, I have to say I’m worse
Because I really start to care, what an awful ****** curse
When I should just tell these people to please leave me alone
I start to listen to their issues, so I cannot really moan!

We should have more time for those in need; that is my belief
and my listening to these people seemed to give them some relief
but while these people seemed much better, having got things off their chest
I am bothered by all their issues and find I am constantly stressed

So if you meet me now I might seem very unsociable altogether
But my experiences with these people have pushed me to the end of my tether
And so I have taken my mothers advice, (she obviously knew the dangers)
For she always warned me as a child; “Never talk to strangers!”

I was friended on facebook by a stranger.
Usually this means I went somewhere and inspired someone with my
Personality or
Flirtation to look me up,
Or maybe a friend, of a friend, of a friend, thinks I'm cute and
Stalked my profile.
Maybe, I'm just an attempt at a ******* to this person.
Which I'm normally super okay with,
But here's the thing.
It was a man.
Now, this is not an issue to me, specifically.
I am in fact bisexual, but that's more of a title,
I mean, I've never been
Penetrated, by a man before.
N-not that I wouldn't be.
But we don't call virgins asexual because they haven't had *** yet so,
I just say bi.
Anyway, this man starts the conversation: "hello! with a smiley face."

I over analyze this: "hello! with a smiley face."
What does it mean?!
I stalk his profile.
Is he cute? Not really, but he isn't ugly.
I've never been attracted to men physically anyway it's always the
Personality,
Or icy blue eyes that pull me in.
And this man wears drag and rocks it so I will probably like him.
I don't know why, but I have a thing for lesbians and
Lesbian like things. It's really....
Destructive.
We have a little conversation and It's fairly innocent
Until he hits me with this line:
"Pretty boys down on their luck, is a sight I am unable to stand."

There it is!
I knew it!
This man is flirting with me!
I could smell it from a mile away.
I know this game.
I've been on
His side of this conversation a million times.
But, i've never known what it feels like to be here.
In this weird space, on the other side.
Getting complimented.
I never get complimented!
At most I get a half-hearted handsome after I
Confess my addiction to a woman's beauty.
Never, am I put on such a pedestal.
I mean, this stranger clearly wants their ***** inside of me.
I can think of no higher compliment.

Things escalate very quickly. Too quickly.

"I have a big bed, and I'm ready for a night of boys, *****, and another B word."

I, an idiot, honestly can't think of the third b word.
"Uh... bacon?
Backrubs?"

"No sweetie, *******."
"*******!?"

What did i get myself into? I had
Absolutely no intention of seeing this guy
EVER and now he thinks I want to come over
TONIGHT for
*******

How did I get myself into this?
What did I say?
What possibly could have made him think i was interested?
Is it just because I haven't bluntly said no?
I scroll up and search for an answer.

"You're pretty cute yourself."

****...      
Yup, that'll do it.

He says:
"Mmmmnfff, You're adorable"

These compliments though! I get
Tingles every time he says something like that to me.
It's so nice that it's entirely worth just
Dealing with the creepiness to hear it.

And then I realized....
That this is what it feels like.
This is how woman feel when we ask to
**** before getting to know them.
It's dangerous.
Like jumping off a cliff and hoping for a trampoline.
It's almost, always,
Rocks.

He says:
"Are you familiar with what consent is? because
I've had issues with that."
"Are you going to be one of those straight boys who are just
Wasting my time?
I hate having my time wasted."

I, realizing now what I'd gotten myself into, say:
"As a matter of fact, I am...
Sorry to have wasted your time, but at least I told you now.
A lot of girls don't"

I see your name on the side
Of my Facebook newsfeed,
Telling me that you’re online
For the fourth time in half an hour.
I won’t lie.
I click that bookmarked tab
As often as you do,
Just so I can see your name.
I miss the days when
There would always be a notification
Telling me that you were thinking
Of me at that moment.
It’s been more than a month
Since your little chat box
Popped up to say hi.

I deleted your number last Friday
Because I couldn’t bear
To see you in my phone
Under the nickname “Ex.”
But I would recognize it
If I saw it on the screen again.
I want to talk to you
But I won’t make the first move.
You ended us,
So I’m waiting for you
To contact me.
I think you might be
Waiting for me to text first.
You’ve tried to talk to me,
But you did it all wrong.
You always do that.

I was told that you let some emotion out
That first weekend alone.
It made me sad
To think of you with tears in your eyes,
But also relieved,
Because it meant that you did care
About me, after all.
Even just a little bit.
It doesn’t have to be like this.
You didn’t have to let go.
I was there for you,
Holding out my hand
When no one else would.
I’ll still be here,
If you want to come back.
But you won’t even text me first now.
So I will wait until I cannot wait anymore,
Until the urge to talk to you
Becomes so overwhelming
That I contact you first.
Because I always do.

You, photo sharing
pop-up rhymester
a one-day glory
for a full-time jester?

is that all you’ve got?

exulting in adulation
of ‘up thumb’ display
painstaking toil
for a chirpy convey

much bother for naught

go away from that evil
a rectangular cage
a duality so curbing
too daunting to assuage

surely, not asking a lot!

banter a bit, out of the cage
break her reckless grind
a cursed double-life
no cage to hide behind!
  
it wasn’t what she thought!

mother’s day isn’t just a day
it is your lifetime, borrowed
moment by moment
nourished and hallowed

a vicarious life – don’t let it rot!